The Rise and The Fall
by Joska
Summary: The short story of a herald and his time at a house of healing inhabited by a strange young blind girl. Rated PG for sadness.


Rising

Authors Note: I don't own Velgarth or any of the canon characters, but I own everyone in this story, except the briefly mentioned Neave, who is owned by my hero, Mercedes Lackey. I like reviews. This short story is essentially a prologue for a longer story, but I felt like posting it and getting a feel for what goes on, and what you like. Ista is not a Mary Sue, and she's not going to be. I promise. I have great plans for her. So in short, I'm a review whore. Make it happen.

The healer touched Bergen's forehead a third time, trying her hardest to simply will the young man better, but to no avail. Petra could no more heal Herald Bergen than she could move the sorrows and she knew it. Bergen had so much strain on his young overtaxed heart that nothing she could do would help. Bergen, a young herald fresh off the circuit was going to die unless he got the help of a very powerful healer.

"So," said Bergen "Is it as bad as Jest thought?"

"Jest?" asked Petra.

"Yes. Jest. My Companion. He's the one who hauled me in here saying I was so sick."

"It's…bad," said Petra, "You've managed to strain your heart. It may have been from a Magical attack."

"I took one when I was on the Border," said Bergen, "Damn Priest thought I was a bandit."

"I'm going to have to call in someone with expertise," said Petra, "I know my trauma, but this is just beyond me. I don't know about Magical healing and I'm Liable to hurt you more by healing you. My only advice is to act like you're 97 years old until I can find you a properly trained healer, okay?"

"I have a circuit," said Bergen.

"I'll send for another Herald," said Petra.

"I should go back to Haven."

"No," said Petra, "I don't know if your heart could do it. I said you're in bad shape and I meant it. No riding, no fighting, just eat, sleep and maybe some light walking. I'll have a little talk with your companion later about this. I'm sure he'll agree with me."

_: Chosen, I'm going to have to side with her. You need to wait for the healer to arrive:_

"No need to inform Jest. He knows and thinks you're right. I guess I'm stuck here."

"Yes you are," said Petra, "Now, rest in bed. Our Junior healer Cleria will be along shortly to deal with anything you need."

"Please," said Bergen, "Try to find something for me to do. I cannot just sit here and rot. Even if it's just paperwork, I refuse to be un-useful. I'm a herald."

"Heralds!" said Petra, throwing her arms up in frustration at the Herald's sense of Duty.

* * *

Cleria entered the room four or five hours after Petra left. Bergen was resting in his bed, hoping that by behaving himself, he could make someone like him and give him something to occupy the long hours.

"Good day, sir herald," said Cleria, smiling brightly at the Herald. Cleria was about 14 years old and stunningly pretty with long platinum blond hair and icy blue eyes.

"Hello," said Bergen brightly, "You would be Cleria?"

"That's me," said Cleria, "I'm in charge of you. Or more, making sure you're comfy while we wait for a proper healer."

"That sounds great," said Bergen, "It'll be nice to not have anything to do for a change."

_: Liar, you'll hate it:_

"Liar, you'll hate it," said Cleria, "Last year, Herald Neave was in here. Hated it. Said stuff about heralds not being able to run from duty, or ever wanting to run from Duty."

"No, really," said Bergen, "I promise to behave."

"Well then," said Cleria, putting an air of superiority in her voice, "I guess you won't want to do the job I found for you."

"Job," said Bergen, his face brightening as he sat bolt upright. He wheezed a few times as he lay back down, and Cleria rushed to his bedside to make him comfortable.

"Told you so. I found you something to do even though you're stuck in bed. I found you a student."

"Student?" said Bergen, confusedly, "I'm no teacher."

"Are you gifted?" asked Cleria.

"I am," said Bergen, "Mindspeech and minor animal Mindspeech."

"Well you're better suited to teach Ista than anyone here. No one has time anyways."

"Ista?"

"Her family died in the wars. She was injured and because of that no one wanted her. She's a lovely girl, but no one here has the time to teach her shields, and I'm afraid they'll send her away if anyone finds out she's been the cause of several people's nightmares."

"Nightmares?" said Bergen, "She's a projector?"

"She is. She projects these visions into people's heads. Neave tried to teach her, but she was damn near frightened of him. She picked up on something in his head and refused to go near him."

"That doesn't surprise me," said Bergen, thinking back on what he knew about Neave.

"She needs someone to teach her shields," said Cleria, "Good shields."

"I may be able to help," said Bergen.

* * *

Bergen slept soundly that night and awoke in the morning to a fresh breakfast. He ate heartily and set about waiting for Ista to arrive. Cleria said she would show up as soon as Petra let her out of her daily chores Bergen sat waiting, wondering if he would be any good as a teacher, or if Ista would be any good as a student.

At just past noon, Bergen heard the trolley for meals coming down the hall. He half pushed himself up as his door opened and the trolley came into the room, being pushed by a girl is no more than 6.

"Hello," said Bergen.

"Hello Sir," said the girl, looking up. Bergen looked into her eyes and was shocked to see the blank look in her deep brown eyes. It was as if she couldn't focus them and they were staring right through him.

"Are you Ista," Bergen managed to say.

"Indeed," said Ista, lifting the heavy tray off the trolley and walking slowly to the bed, setting it down on the bedside table, "Cleria sent me."

"Very good," said Bergen, "Have you had lunch yet?"

"No," said Ista, pulling a bun with meat on it out of her tunic. Bergen looked the girl up and down, trying to figure out what to make of her. She had a slow gait and a far off look, and he wondered if perhaps he had had a halfwit foisted upon him. Her hair was a deep brown, like her eyes, and her face was tanned from being outdoors. She was a slim child, but very very small. He wondered if perhaps she was older than six, but decided to wait until he spoke more to her to decide.

"Beef or Pork?" asked Bergen, trying to get a reading on the girl.

"Mutton," said Ista, "This country isn't good for beef and it's too good to be wasted on pigs. We're a sheep town."

"Do you like living near the border?"

"No," said Ista, "It used to be too close to Hardorn. It's not so bad now, but I will never get over the fact that Hardorn tried to destroy Valdemar."

"How old were you when the war ended?" asked Bergen.

"I was 3," said Ista quietly, "I was too young to remember it though, so don't bother asking."

"So you're 8 now?" said Bergen.

"Almost nine," said Ista.

"What do you remember about the war?"

"Nothing much," said Ista, "I remember father dying. And I remember mother shielding me from the others in the village. And I remember mother throwing me in a closet when the soldiers came."

"Soldiers killed your family."

"Yes," said Ista, "And used me as a sacrifice for blood magic."

Bergen was taken aback by the last comment. Even though there was no prohibition on magic, Blood magic was still taboo. No one really talked about it.

Ista sensed Bergen's thoughts and how she confused him. It was common. She tended to confuse people.

"I survived the sacrifice," said Ista, "But not without being hurt. I'm not retarded. I'm blind. The mage used magic to blind me, and then used that magic to burn down the neighbouring holding. Then the mage was killed by the guard, and they brought me here, to this house of healing. I've been here ever since."

"They can't fix your sight," said Bergen, realised how insensitive he'd been to this young girl.

"No," said Ista, "They could in theory, but it would take more magic, and I would lose what gifts I have. I like my gifts. I can see things before they happen. Mostly the weather, but it still means I'll never have to really work. I can sit around and warn people about storms and never have to toil too hard."

"Sounds like a plan," said Bergen, "Now, shall we begin with your training. Lesson one, ground and center."

* * *

Two weeks, three weeks, a month, two months, three months and three weeksand still nothing came for Bergen. There was a rash of magical injuries, mostly leftovers from the Mage storms, and it seemed to Petra and Cleria that Bergen was being left for dead. Petra fumed and stormed about the house of healing, trying to figure out how to heal the sick Herald. Cleria was left to tend to Bergen, who was forced to take more and more pain medications to keep him from hurting badly.

The only person who seemed truly happy was Bergen himself. In Ista, he had found a Kindred spirit. He, a twenty-four year old Herald, spent and inordinate amount of time with the small eight year old. They had finished with lessons on shields, moved past using projection as a weapon, and were now working on actual weapons work. Ista was learning to strike with whatever she had and run. It wasn't much, but she would be prepared for the world.

Bergen coughed as Ista ran through the exercises that Alberich had taught him a fifth time. She wanted to learn, she didn't want to be helpless, and Bergen liked it. She had more determination than half the students in the collegium, and had every intention of taking Ista with him. She would be useful in the Collegium. She had gotten the rare gift for absorbing information through touch. Someone could use her.

As Ista stumbled, Bergen sat up and reached out his hand. Ista dropped the wooden short sword and walked over to the spot next to bed. She wished that Bergen was the blind one for once, so that she didn't have to hide the fact she was scared. She hadn't lived with Healers for a long time without picking up on a few bad signs. Shortness of breath was always bad, especially when there was no real treatment. That meant that there was little Petra or Cleria could do.

"I missed the step,' said Ista.

"You'll learn," said Bergen, "You're getting very fast. You just need to relax a little. Let the movements come."

"I'll try," said Ista, "But it's hard. I'm afraid I'll hit something and hurt me, or you, or both."

"It comes with fighting, Issie," said Bergen, "You hurt people. It's not fun, but it happens."

"The Sunlord says that we must not fight if our hearts say no," said Ista.

"You follow the Sunlord?"

"I do," said Ista, "I'm actually Karsite, but don't tell anyone. There are still a lot of angry people here. Cleria told me so. I'm supposed to tell anyone I don't know that I'm from a holding."

_: She is Karsite:_ said Jest :I_ had a long talk with Cleria. Petra found her near the border, babbling in Karsite. Seems that she was abandoned by the guard, because they knew that if they took her back to Karse, she would be fed to the flames:_

_: I know Ista well, but very little about where she came from. That would explain it. She wasn't sure if she could tell me.:_

_: Ask her to sing for you. Cleria said that she's got the makings of a Bard:_

_: She's tired now. I think I'll just rest with her.:_

_: Bergen, she's eight years old. She's not tired, you are. And she feels like she HAS to be there with you. She needs to have something to do.:_

_: Damn you horse:_

"Ista, Sweetling, what would you like to do now. I think we're done with sword work for today."

"I'm bored," said Ista, swinging her feet from her chair. She looked so sweet and innocent from the chair she sat on. It was next to Bergen's bed, and way too big for the small child. Ista would sit and swing her feet wildly, listening to Bergen talk for hours.

"Do you know how to sing," said Bergen, smiling widely, then coughing hard a few times.

"I…can sing," said Ista, hesitantly.

"You sound unsure."

"I can't sing in Valdemarian."

"Why not?"

"I only ever learned to sing in Karsite," said Ista, her face full of childlike innocence, "No one ever taught me to sing in Valdemarian."

Bergen suppressed the urge to laugh and was very glad Ista couldn't see. Ista looked at him funny and smiled widely, and the young Herald just lost it. Bergen started to laugh like he had never laughed before. For the first time in months, he was just letting it all go. He gasped and groaned as Ista looked at him in surprise.

Then, suddenly, a pain shot through Bergen's chest. He grabbed for it and gasped. Ista was looking around the room in a panic, not knowing what was going on.

_: Ista, go get Petra! _shouted a voice inside of Ista's head. Ista jumped off the chair and started running down the halls. She knew the house of healing like she knew her own room, and running down the halls was nothing for her. She beat the pavement with the soles of her bare feet and barrel right through the door into the garden, screaming for Petra to run to Bergen. Petra heard Ista and ran inside, leaving Cleria to deal with the rather distraught child.

* * *

"Oath or no oath," said Petra as she and Cleria sat down to dinner, "I WILL raise all hell on my next trip to Haven and so help me Kernos I will hurt SOMEONE for this. Four months and no one. He's a herald for the love of God. I would think SOMEONE would come and help him."

"Maybe they don't understand the gravity of the situation," said Cleria, helpfully.

"They know," said Petra, "I have sent a message with every passing caravan and courier. They KNOW we have a dying herald."

"How long?" asked Cleria.

"Two days," said Petra, "Maybe three."

"It's…It's not him I'm worried about. He'll pass, but Ista. She won't be happy. She won't be able to stay here. Can you imagine the pain she'll feel?"

"I've…I've thought that too. I spoke to some friends and I've found a new place for her. A school in Jkatha."

"Jkatha? Are you kidding?"

"She's fluent in Valdemarian, Karsite and getting there in Rethwellian. She has the talent to be a bard. Why not give her the best training we can. It's the Royal school. She'll be among the best."

"That's cold," said Cleria, "You want to send Ista away?"

"Once Bergen is dead, yes."

But those last two sentences were all Ista heard.

* * *

Ista sat next to Bergen for the rest of the evening. As the moon began to shine through the window, the herald opened his eyes to find Ista on her chair, her hands clenching each other in the bonds of prayer, her eyes still wet from tears.

"Ista, Sweetling," said Bergen, "What's wrong."

"They said they're going to send me away once you're dead. I don't want you to die and I don't want to leave," she blurted out, "I don't like change. It makes things harder for me."

"Away?" said Bergen, "They told me that too. They said they wanted to send you to a lovely school in Jkatha. One where you can learn to sing in Valdemarian and in Rethwellian and in Jkathan. One where they'll teach you everything about music."

"I don't want to be a Bard, I want to be a Herald," said Ista, "Just like you Bergen. I don't want to be away from you."

"You won't be," said Bergen, "Because I have something for you."

"You do?" said Ista, wiping her eyes.

"Yes," said Bergen, pulling a package that Cleria had done up for him out of his blankets. He handed it to Ista and waited as she opened the paper. Inside sat an elaborate dagger and a simple pendant in the shape of a companion, made of ironwood, so it would never break.

"A knife and a Pendant," said Ista, running her fingers over the dagger and necklace.

"They both mean something," said Bergen, "The Pendant is a symbol of our friendship. As long as you wear it, I'll never be far away. Even if you can't see me, I'll watch over you. And we'll never have to be apart."

"And the dagger?"

"It's mine," said Bergen, "My father gave it to me when I was but a boy. It's supposed to be a family symbol. I was supposed to give it to my first son, because your first son is the one you love the most. But I never had children. I never even had a wife. All I've ever had were the Heralds, and you Ista. And I'm leaving everything I own to you. And when you visit Haven, you can claim it. That dagger proves it so. You can waltz into the palace and claim your share of my father's money. Lord knows he has enough."

"I don't want it," said Ista.

"Sweetling," said Bergen, pulling the girl onto the bed with him, "The world changes. None of us really know how to stop it. All we can do is try to touch the people around us. And you've touched me Sweetling. You really have. I will always love you, and you will always love me. And that's the way it is. We'll be in each others hearts until the day we meet again."

"We'll meet again?"

"Yes love. I promise."

"Soon?"

"No. Not soon. But one day."

"I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too," said Bergen, pulling the tearful child close, his own eyes welling up at the realisation of his own mortality. He knew he couldn't help this child anymore, this child who needed him, who loved him even though he was a failure. He was a normal Herald who barely got through his classes, barely passed his internship, and qualified only for circuit riding in low risk areas. Ista didn't care. Ista loved him because he made her love, because he was good to her, not because he was a herald, or because he was highborn.

And as the curtain fell on Bergen's life, it dawned on him. With Ista, he had experienced true and untainted love.

* * *

Dressed in a new Tunic and breeches, Ista walked slowly down the unfamiliar hallway, listening for the sound of the harps. Her first class was in harp, with her new master Loiy. She tapped her new walking stick in front of her and counted off the steps, like Bergen had taught her.

As she opened the door, she heard the intake of breath of a woman, who rose to her feet and walked over to take Ista's hand.

"So you're our new little prodigy," said the woman, "I am Loiy. I will be your master."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," said Ista, "I am called Ista. Please excuse my bad Jkathan."

"I'm rather impressed," said the woman, guiding Ista to a seat facing a sun clad window, "Your grasp has improved greatly from the first time I saw you."

"Thank you," said Ista.

"They tell me you compose," said Loiy.

"I do," said Ista, "Although, they're all in Karsite and Valdemarian for now. I would like to translate them to Jkathan, with your help."

"Nine years old and writing ballads," said Loiy, "Quite the feat."

"I was inspired," said Ista quietly, her fingers absent-mindedly rubbing the horse shaped pendant around her neck.

"I think I had copies," said Loiy, "There's one called 'Awaiting the light' and another called 'Ride on, good sir'."

"And one I just finished," said Ista, "My first in Valdemarian."

"But you speak Karsite, why write in Valdemarian?"

"It seemed to be a good idea at the time," said Ista, "My last one is called 'Rise up and face the fear'. It was written for a dear…it was written for someone important."

"You're father?"

"I wish."


End file.
